The Boy Who Never Grew Up (3 page)

“Who’s writing it for her?”

“A woman named Cassandra Dee.”

I winced.

He noticed. “You know her?”

“I’ve scraped her off the bottom of my shoes a couple of times.”

“She’s not reputable?”

“Cassandra and reputable are not two words I would put together in the same sentence. Or novella. Cassandra D’Amico is her full name. She’s a bareknuckle fighter from Bensonhurst. Got her start stringing for Page Six of the
Post
, then moved up—or down—to the
Enquirer
, depending on how you look at it. She’s now considered the mistress of the slash and burn. Did that sleazy Rock Hudson book, the unauthorized Julia Roberts bio. She works the low road. She’ll do anything to get a scoop, and I do mean anything.”

“So I’ve been told,” he acknowledged sourly. “You can imagine how Matthew feels about it. All he keeps saying is ‘Why can’t they leave me alone?’ ”

“I’m afraid that’s not possible anymore. Once this kind of thing starts …”

“I know, I know. That’s why I contacted you.”

“Dueling memoirs?”

“Exactly. Only ours will be tasteful. The self-portrait of a Hollywood genius. I’m here to talk to publishers. Can I trust any of them?”

“No.”

He laughed. “Then I should feel right at home. I wanted your input before I sat down with any of them.”

“I’m flattered.”

“We’re flattered that a writer of your caliber would even be interested.”

The stroking. It’s what they give you out there, in exchange for your self-respect. Hardly necessary in this case. We were talking guaranteed best-seller. And my self-respect was long gone.

“We want class,” he claimed grandly. “We want depth, taste, humanity. We want
you.
You’re the only writer Matthew would even consider.”

I lapped this all up in silence. I never said I didn’t like the stroking.

“And we’ll pay you whatever you want,” he promised. “Just name your price. We won’t even dicker.”

I sipped my coffee. “You realize, of course, that Pennyroyal may not go through with it. This may be just a scare tactic.”

“She’ll have to go through with it,” he snarled, turning tough on me. “Because we don’t scare. We fight back. And believe me, Pennyroyal Brim has a lot more to hide than Matthew Wax does.”

“What have you got on her?”

“Why?”

“I’ll have to know.”

He hesitated. His close-set eyes met and held mine. Then he reached for another Danish, either his third or his fourth. I’d lost count. “She had an abortion her senior year of high school,” he said, gobbling.

“Who was the father?”

“Some kid she knew. High school boyfriend. The point is, Hoagy, she’s never been the goody-goody that the public thinks she is. That’s strictly image. We created it. We nurtured it. Very carefully.”

“What else?”

“What makes you think there’s anything else?”

I didn’t bother to answer. At my feet, Lulu began to snore softly. She thinks that’s sexy, too. Trust me, it isn’t.

Shelley cleared his throat uncomfortably. “Before Matthew discovered her, she had, well, modeled in the nude—under another name. Carla Pettibone. We own the negatives. Bought ’em outright from the shakedown artist who took ’em. I was afraid he’d try to sell them to
Penthouse
or somebody. I keep them locked away in my office. Sure, I know exactly what you’re thinking—I ought to leak them to the press now and smear her. But I won’t do it.”

“That’s not what I was thinking.”

“What were you …?”

“I was wondering why you didn’t just destroy them.”

“Hey, I run a studio,” he reasoned. “You never know when you might need some leverage.”

“Like now, for instance.”

Shelley shook his head vehemently. “She’s the mother of Matthew’s child. I won’t destroy her. I won’t stoop to Zorch’s level. No way.”

“Any chance this photographer will resurface with another set of negatives?”

“Zero chance. He’s dead. Somebody shot him a few weeks after I bought him off. Small wonder, the kind of business he was in. Shambazza was his name. Rajhib Shambazza. Black dude. Convinced Penny he was getting her into show business, apparently. What the hell, she was seventeen. We’ve all been victimized. We’ve all done things we’re not proud of. I didn’t care. Strictly damage control, from my point of view.”

“And from Matthew’s?”

“As far as he’s concerned, Pennyroyal Brim was born on the day she met him. She has zero past of her own.” He puffed out his cheeks. “And to think I was the one who encouraged them. She was a sweet kid. I thought she’d make him happy. I thought she really loved him. Not like all of the others.”

“Others?”

“The women out there. They’ve pursued him for years, relentlessly. He was never interested. Not even just for fucking. He was always waiting for the right girl. True love. And with Pennyroyal, he found it. Or so he thought. Now she says she needs to be free. I don’t know. Maybe she was never the girl he thought she was. Maybe … maybe he saw in her only what he wanted to see.”

“That’s as good a definition of love as any.”

He drained his coffee and limped over to the railing and gazed thoughtfully out at the skyline. Or maybe he was searching the windows for a sniper. “Let me tell you about Matthew Wax, Hoagy. I’ve known him since he was thirteen years old, back when I first started dating Shelley. Matthew is a
child
, Hoagy, a gifted, special child who just happens to be thirty-eight years old. I say this in all seriousness. I’m not overselling you. Matthew is the exact same person he was when I first met him twenty-five years ago—a meek, sensitive, trusting, nutty kid who lives in a nutty kid’s world of make-believe. It’s a fact of human nature that people never grow up if they’re constantly being rewarded for
not
growing up. Well, that’s Matthew. He became such a huge success at such a young age that he never had to. He didn’t want to. And, frankly, no one else wanted him to. Let’s face it—his childlike innocence is his greatest gift as a director. Matthew is
genuine
. He
is
that little kid sitting in the front row with a box of popcorn. He
believes
in that happy, wonderful, cornball world he puts on the screen. He’s at his best when he’s on the set. He’s got all of his new toys to play with, and everyone does just what he tells them to. They have to—he’s the director. And he’s a real pro. He always knows what he wants. Off the set, he has the social and emotional maturity of a thirteen-year-old. Would you believe he still eats a cheeseburger, fries, and a chocolate shake for lunch every single day?”

“Has he had his cholesterol checked lately?”

“His idea of a fun night is eating take-out pizza and playing video games. He owns the largest private library of old TV shows in America. Has tapes of every series you’ve heard of, and a lot you haven’t. He doesn’t travel. Doesn’t entertain. Doesn’t go to parties. Doesn’t have the slightest interest in the movie business, or in playing the game. That’s why he’s never won an Oscar. He’s never even been to the Awards. Mostly, he spends his time with us and with his mom, Bunny. It drove Pennyroyal crazy after a while. She said she felt like a shut-in.” He hobbled over to the coffee pot and refilled his cup. “Don’t get me wrong—I love the big goon. Took him under my wing right from the very start. I don’t know why. I guess because I never had a kid brother, and because he needed somebody to watch out for him. That’s what I’ve done. Watch out for him.” He reached for another Danish. “People in this business, they exploit talent like his. They devour it, they destroy it, and they enjoy doing it.”

“Tell me something I don’t already know.”

“I made it clear from the start that they had to go through me to get at him. That’s how it’s always been. I’m his human shield. When he needed someone to negotiate his contracts, I did that. When he needed someone to produce his movies, I did that. When he needed someone to run Bedford Falls, I did that, too. I stand between him and the scum. He never gets involved in any contract squabbles. Never talks to agents. The politics, the egos, the power plays, the lying, the cheating, the back-stabbing—I handle all of that. All he’s ever wanted was the freedom to be that little boy playing with his toys. I’ve made sure he got it. I’ve devoted my life to that. Not just me—all of us have. Shelley, Bunny, Sarge …”

“Sarge?”

“She’s his assistant. Matthew’d be totally lost without her. We’ve all made sure he could keep on telling those sweet, wonderful stories that make so many millions of people around the world feel so good. All along, I’ve felt I was doing the right thing. He was so happy, so productive …” He sat back down heavily. “Now, I’m not so sure. Because I’ve left him totally unprepared for all of this shit. He can’t deal with any of it. What she’s doing to him. What the industry is doing to him. He honestly doesn’t understand what’s happening to him.”

“Everyone has to grow up some time,” I pointed out.

“That they do,” he acknowledged readily. “Matthew is finally going through puberty. And it’s not pretty.”

“It seldom is. I take it he’s working?”

Up went the shield. “That’s correct,” Shelley Selden replied briskly. “He just finished writing the script for
Badger Four
last week. He’s casting it now, scouting locations. Goes into production in a few weeks.”

“How’s the script?”

“Great!” he exclaimed.

I tugged at my ear. “Let’s try that again—how is the script?”

“I try to stay out of the creative end,” he replied tactfully. “I know my limitations. I’m just the numbers man. So I’m really the wrong person to ask.”

“I’m asking.”

He hesitated. “Okay, sure … My feeling is he needs to do a big, noisy, fun, Matthew Wax kind of picture right now. Something with maybe some nice, fuzzy aliens in it …” He trailed off. And, slowly, began to deflate before my eyes. I could almost hear the air hissing out of him. “Instead, he wants to do an adult drama—in black and white. It’s a Badger, only this one’s darker and much more personal than anything he’s ever done before. I—I think the script still needs a little work. I don’t think it hangs together yet. But it’s what Matthew wants to do next. He keeps saying he wants to be taken … seriously.”

“Tell him to start wearing glasses. That’s what Daryl Hannah did.”

“He already wears glasses,” Shelley said miserably.

There, he was good and deflated now, like a beanbag chair. I could have lounged atop the man if I cared to.

“Does he know how you feel?” I asked.

“Not totally.”

“Is he happy with the script?”

“Not totally.” He brightened a little. “That’s why he wants you.”

“I’m not a screenwriter.”

“He knows. But, see, this is the first movie that Matthew’s ever done that’s about
him
. He’s not used to introspection. In fact, he’s avoided it his whole life. Writing this book, he hopes, will help him to examine his life. Which will in turn help the script. This is a major step for Matthew, Hoagy. For him, it’s like going into therapy.”

“I’m not a therapist.”

“But you do possess a certain …”

“Effortless style?”

“Knack,” he said.

I shrugged. “Everybody ought to be good at something.”

“Go to work on him, Hoagy. Draw him out. He’ll give you as much of his time as you need. This isn’t just a book to him. Or a movie. This is him becoming a man.”

I sampled a Danish. There was only one left, and I didn’t think he’d leave it there for long. “Exactly how much of this is because of Pennyroyal?”

“It has everything to do with Pennyroyal, and it has nothing to do with Pennyroyal,” he replied. “It has to do with real life. He’s face to face with it for the first time, and he’s finding it pretty ugly.”

“Only because it is. Are you actually trying to tell me the man’s never been fucked over before? Not once?”

“Oh, he has been,” Shelley conceded. “Sure he has. Schlom’s done it to him in every imaginable way, and then some.” That would be Norbert Schlom, the president of Panorama City Studios. “He’s the one who discovered Matthew, and first put him to work. Became like a father to him. And cheated him every single step of the way. Cheated him out of millions. This is a man with no sense of morality, Hoagy. A man who lies on spec. You know he actually claims that
Yeti
, which only happens to be the fourth highest grossing movie in Hollywood history, still hasn’t netted a profit? Matthew only made his salary on that picture. Not a penny more on the back end. It wasn’t until he did the sequel that he had enough clout to demand, and get, gross points. And then when he did
Dennis the Dinosaur
I made sure he retained all of the licensing rights to his characters. That’s where the gold was. Schlom knew it, too, but I said take it or leave it. So he took it.”

“I’m surprised you stayed at all.”

“Don’t be. You know what they call the Disney Studio under Jeff Katzenberg’s rule? Mouschwitz. Better the devil you know. Fewer surprises that way.” Shelley shook his head, disgusted. “Schlom’s clever though. He still figured a way to force Matthew into that
Three Stooges
disaster. Matthew, he was deeply, deeply hurt by that experience. But it didn’t set him straight about the business. No way. See, Matthew had a real shitty relationship with his father, who was a major scumbag. To Matthew, Schlom was simply his father being shitty to him all over again. That’s the only way he was able to comprehend it. I had to get him out of there after that. That’s what Bedford Falls is about. It’s a home. A safe environment where he can feel comfortable and not have to associate with the Schloms of the world. He named it after the town Jimmy Stewart lived in in
It’s a Wonderful Life
, the Frank Capra movie. Matthew’s favorite. He watches it at least once a week. That’s where the name Georgie came from, too—Stewart’s name in the movie was George Bailey. He even owns the ‘George Lassos the Moon’ needlepoint that Donna Reed made for Stewart in the movie. Bedford Falls is a dream come true, Hoagy. An old-fashioned Hollywood studio, like out of the thirties. Eight soundstages, a back lot, office buildings—all ours. We’ve created an alternative to the madness. A place where talented young people can come and do good work and know we’re not out to screw them. We won’t tack on millions in bogus overhead. We won’t cheat them out of their back end. We’re
nice
. They can’t get over it. Coppola tried doing it years ago with American Zoetrope, only he fell on his face because he wasn’t a sound businessman. The major studios, they want us to fail, too. We’re a threat to them. But we won’t. We’re bottom-line oriented and we’re realistic. We make a small, select slate of maybe eight Bedford Falls films a year. Romances, family comedies, the kind of movies Matthew likes. A lot of them are directed by kids who used to work for him. Strictly moderate budgets. We draw the line at twenty million and we won’t go over it. We won’t work with crazed stars who demand ten million and gross points and then disappear in their trailer all day because somebody looks at ’em funny. We won’t work with egomaniacal directors who demand we take out a full-page ad in
Variety
calling them geniuses. We won’t work with coked-up producers who demand we build them their own three-million-dollar kingdom out in our parking lot. We work with decent, enthusiastic, hardworking professionals who enjoy their work.” He paused, glancing hungrily at the empty Danish plate. He’d really wanted that last one. “We also have something else Coppola didn’t have. We have Matthew Wax. He’s an industry unto himself.”